


through and through

by hellynz



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Character Study, F/F, POV Second Person, Sadism, dark doctor, dark!Doctor, not happy!, thasmin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2019-12-30 17:15:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18319742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellynz/pseuds/hellynz
Summary: What does kindness mean, in the end?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _Let all Oz be agreed, I'm wicked through and through._

Laugh hard, run fast, be kind.

You wonder absently if he knew who you were before you knew yourself.

Be kind, he had asked of you. He had wanted that so badly for you, had loved you in a way that no other version of you had ever felt about another at the moment of their demise and birth. You suppose you have some fondness for him too, or there wouldn’t be that swell of guilt each time you reflect on his words.

You are not unkind, exactly. You protect your friends and you get them safely to your TARDIS. Rosa becomes your priority the minute you realize she is in trouble and you give everything you have to keep her safe. But something in you lights aflame when you watch Krasko struggle against his neural implants. At the time, you refuse to name the feeling in your gut.

That's a kindness to yourself. Does that count?

-

Be kind, be kind, be kind, be kind.

You had tried, at least at first. When you didn’t yet have a clear picture of who you were. And it’s not that you are evil, or even mean or cold-hearted. But, you recognize bitterly as you see Eve’s dead body and are mostly annoyed that she could not hold herself together long enough to keep you all safe, you are not kind.

If you could sit in isolation for billions of years pounding yourself to death on an impenetrable wall to save one friend, she could have handled a few more minutes of flying to save three.

 _Be kind_ he whispers from the back of your skull.

You speak a dedication to her with the others. You hold Avocado when his father needs a break despite the pain still stabbing into your side. You sing Mabli’s praises to her superiors, insist she is promoted immediately. 

Once you are back on your TARDIS you give in to something that has been building for weeks and you take Yaz to your bed. This body craves sex like the one before rejected it, and you’ve barely been able to talk yourself out of it when she makes a move herself. You try to lose your thoughts in her, in her soft skin and the noises she makes, the smell of her. Together you burn and burn and burn, and at the peak of it all you see the look on Tim Shaw’s face as you sent him away.

It’s such a beautiful sight that you are climbing to the edge again before you are even done with your first fall.  
You still aren’t kind.

-

On a late night, wandering the TARDIS while your human friends sleep, you end up in the library. Out of some morbid humor, you pull a dictionary from the shelves and flip through it quickly.

_Kind /kīnd/_  
Adjective: having or showing a friendly, generous, and considerate nature.  
"she was a good, kind woman" 

One corner of your mouth curls up into an unfriendly smirk. Many have called you good. But the question remains; are you capable of being kind?

-

 _Be kind_ , you muse as you watch Charlie’s face start to turn from stubborn denial to fear when you start the transporter, your hearts beating a little faster.

You could have made the delivery robots wait.

You could have run down and grabbed him yourself.

If it had been anyone but Charlie down there, you would have made sure they were not in any danger.

You don’t do any of these things.

It makes you angry, almost, the spring in your step as you walk away. The burning deep in your gut that gets worse every time you brush near Yaz. It’s frustrating, to be trying so hard to be good and to have this reaction.

He hadn’t deserved it exactly. But he’d earned it. He died at his own hand.

No matter how many times you save the universe, it’s rare the ones you stand against actually suffer for their crimes. You like it when they suffer, though you would not admit that out loud. You can’t ignore it anymore.

You picture his face as he realized his hopelessness that night with Yaz’s tongue between your thighs and you climax within seconds, screaming, fingers digging into her scalp.

He earned it. You wonder, as your vision returns and you roll over, gasping, to give as much as you got, what have you earned?

-

The man before you would be relieved to see your fondness of children has not faded.

What was it Pond had said about the Star Whale?

_“If you were that old and that kind, and the very last of your kind, you couldn’t just stand there and watch children cry.”_

Well, you're not the last of your kind anymore, technically. You're older than ever. 

You _feel_ kind as you leap into the water to try to save the crying child’s granny.

Kindness, apparently, is not enough.

-

Each form of you could beg for the next to be whatever they want, but it will not change who you are at your core.

_Be kind?_

You do not think you are kind, at your core.

You know this distinctly as the Dalek retreats from you in fear and your lips curl even further from your teeth, your back straight and your eyes wide, breathing rapidly, arousal (for you have finally admitted it’s name) coiling in your stomach.

It knows who you are and it knows what you have done and it is _afraid-_

The terror is palpable in the room and your head swims with it, your core burns with it, the space between your legs is aching terribly with it and you are so distracted you’re almost shot before you think to leap away.

A kind person would not reach down out of habit to adjust an erection they no longer had the body parts to make before exiting the warehouse. A kind person would not have realized their mistake and then instead pressed their fingers against the seam of their pants, hips jerking forward as they leaned against the cool concrete wall, moaning into their fist.

 _Of course_ you’ll stop the Dalek, of course you will save the humans. You might not be kind but you are not necessarily bad. You are the Earth’s defender, after all.

But _oh_ , how you love the thrill of a close call.

They think it is a miscalculation when you announce Aaron might be flung out the door with the Dalek, but you are too old and have traveled through space for too long to make such massive mistake.

You have been a father. You saw Ryan's face at Grace's funeral. You saw Aaron show up unannounced months later, holding a microwave he was trying to sell. No, it was not a mistake at all. 

You almost let the universe take Ryan’s dad and you are so worked up by the time he is rescued that it takes all of your self control to wait until the others have left before you grab Yaz and shove her against the wall, one hand up her shirt and the other down your own pants.

__She whispers sweet nothings into your hair as you groan and rut against her, your movements frantic. She tells you it is not your fault, you did what you had to do, you had no other choice, it all worked out in the end. She thinks she is comforting you. You bury your face into her neck to hide your triumphant grin as you gasp your way through your climax, stars just like the one you threw the Dalek into bursting in front of your eyes._ _

You wonder if she will realize the truth one day. 

You hope she won’t. But it doesn’t really matter that much, in the end.

You have learned to fake it. Would he have thought that enough?

Then again, does the opinion of a dead man matter at all?

Fully clothed, pressed against a woman thousands of years younger than you, driven to orgasm by the sounds of a Dalek’s screams.

You think, briefly, of the man who first met Rose. Of the coldness around his heart, darkened and hardened by war. He had met one of those _things_ too, and he had been told he would make a good one. It had shaken him to his core.

You don’t know anymore if he was wrong to convince himself that he would not make a good Dalek.

You do know that you are not kind.


	2. unpunished

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> version 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't ask me why because i don't have an answer
> 
> but i've been thinking about dark 13 a lot recently and although i am very fond of the original, i wrote this on my phone at work and published it without any edits so i've been wanting to revisit it for awhile.
> 
> it's the same thing, basically, but written how i'd write it if i got the idea today. LMAO HUMOR ME AND READ IT

_Laugh hard, run fast, be kind._

You wonder often if he knew who you were before you knew yourself. Why leave you with that message, if he didn’t have an inkling.

Be kind, he’d asked of you. Had wanted that so badly for you, had loved you in a way that no other version of you had ever felt. You suppose you must have some fondness for him, too, or there wouldn’t be that swell of guilt each time you reflect on his words.

You are not unkind, you think. It’s an accident when your new friends are pulled into danger with you. So you protect them and get them safely to your TARDIS. Rosa becomes your priority the minute you realize she is in trouble and you give everything you have to keep her safe. But something in you, deep down and buried under the murk of all your newness, lights aflame when you watch Krasko struggle against his neural implant.

At the time, you refuse to name the feeling in your gut. You cover it up further, shove it away.

That’s a kindness to yourself. Does that count?

-

Be kind, be kind, be kind, be kind.

You try, at least at first. When the picture still wasn’t clear yet of who you are. And it’s not that you are evil, or even mean or cold-hearted. But, you recognize bitterly, glaring at Eve’s dead body and burning alive with annoyance that she could not hold herself together long enough to keep you all safe, you are not kind.

If you could sit in isolation for billions of years pounding yourself to death on an impenetrable wall to save one friend, she could have handled a few more minutes of flying to save three.

 _Be kind,_ he whispers from the back of your skull.

You speak a dedication to her with the others and you do not roll your eyes. You hold Avocado when his father needs a break despite the pain still stabbing into your side. You sing Mabli’s praises to her superiors, insist she is promoted immediately.

Something has been building for weeks between you and Yaz. This body craves sex like the one before rejected it, and you’ve barely been able to restrain yourself. Pressing your body against hers to shield her from the Pting, her breath on your neck, fear clouding the air, the last shred of your self control breaks.

Once you are back on your TARDIS you take her to your bed. You try to lose your thoughts in her, in her soft skin and the noises she makes, the smell of her. Together you burn and burn and burn, and at the peak of it all you see Tim Shaw’s face as Carl pushed him, all of that fear and anger and -

It’s such a beautiful sight that you are climbing to the edge again before you are even done with your first fall.

Out of some morbid humor, you find yourself wandering to the library that night after you untangle yourself from Yaz’s arms, your friends all sleeping. You pull a dictionary from the shelves and flip through.

 _Kind /kīnd/_  
_Adjective: having or showing a friendly, generous, and considerate nature._  
_"she was a good, kind woman"_

One corner of your mouth curls up into an unfriendly smirk. Many have called you good. You suppose you’re generous. Not always considerate, if Clara would have anything to say about it.

What does that add up to?

-

 _Be kind_ , you muse as you watch Charlie’s face turn from indignation to stubborn denial to fear when you start the transporter without him. Your hearts race in your chest. It’s a shame you don’t get to see what comes next.

You could have made the delivery robots wait.

You could have run down and grabbed him yourself.

If it had been anyone but Charlie down there, you would have made sure they were not in any danger. It wouldn’t have even been hard.

You don’t do any of these things.

It makes you angry, almost, the spring in your step as you walk away. The burning deep in your gut that gets worse every time you brush near Yaz. It’s frustrating, to be trying so hard to be good and to have this reaction. And yet you find yourself more worried that you didn’t act sad enough, that your friends will notice your mood, than you are worried that anyone will miss Charlie.

They won’t. He hadn’t deserved it exactly. But he’d earned it. He died at his own hand.

No matter how many times you save the universe, it’s rare the ones you stand against actually suffer for their crimes. You like it when they suffer. Not that you would admit that out loud.

But you do as good as admit it when you picture his face as he realized his hopelessness that night with Yaz’s tongue between your thighs. It’s still a shame you didn’t get to actually see the end, but your fantasies are enough. You climax within seconds, screaming, fingers digging into her scalp.

He earned it. You wonder, as your vision returns and you roll over, gasping, to give as much as you got, what have you earned?

-

Many things you have done would make your past hang their heads in shame. But the man before you would be relieved to see your fondness of children has not faded, at least.

What was it Amelia had said?

_If you were that old and that kind, and the very last of your kind, you couldn’t just stand there and watch children cry._

Well, you're not the last of your kind anymore, technically. You're older than ever.

You _feel_ kind as you leap into the water to try to save the crying child’s granny. It even stays with you as you trudge, soaking wet and freezing, up the hill to the manor. It lights you from within through your second dunk, as it rains and you force away the shaking in your frozen bones.

But feeling kind, apparently, is not enough. The warmth of being kind is nothing compared to the burning desire in you. Not when the Morax let their fear out in screams as you force them back into their prison. Not when the queen shrieks through her pain, burning alive, and you didn’t even have to be the one to do it.

Not when you try to resist, avoid eye contact, try not to initiate it this time, but one brush of Yaz’s shoulder against yours has you grabbing her by the arm and stalking down the hall, knees weak, so ready by the time you are undressed that it’s embarrassing.

Not enough at all.

-

Each form of you could beg for the next to be whatever they want, but it will not change who you are at your core.

_Be kind?_

You do not think you are kind, at your core.

You know this distinctly as you whirl to face a possessed woman and arousal (for you have finally admitted its name) bursts inside you, twisting and writhing. Every time you think the things are gone they come back, every time you think the universe might finally be rid of them some archeologists dig up the wrong spot and put it under the wrong light.

In some of your lives, this early on and hiding this much, this kind of confrontation may have ruined you. When this you finds evidence of a Dalek in Sheffield, you are thrilled.

When Lynn’s eyes clear you comfort her, because it’s not about her at all. But when that cold, calculated rage returns, you can barely keep from shuddering, pleasure sending chills down your spine. The excitement growing.

It doesn’t even know who you are until the warehouse. Until you circle it, call it mate once, then a second time just to drive it mad, just in case it somehow develops a sense of humor and knows you are teasing it. You’re putting on a show and there is no one else around, it is just you and that thing. It is just to stoke the fire in your gut. Drag it out longer. Foreplay.

_Except, I’m not human._

It’s like you can finally breathe again, chest heaving, as the Dalek retreats from you in fear and your lips curl even further from your teeth, your back straight and your eyes wide, anticipation coiling in your stomach.

It knows who you are and it knows what you have done and it is _afraid_ -

It’s terror is palpable in the room, the air heavy, and your head swims with it, your core burns with it, you ache for it and you are so distracted by it that you’re almost shot before you think to leap away.

A kind person would not reach down out of habit to adjust an erection they no longer had the body parts to make before exiting the warehouse. A kind person would not have realized their mistake and then instead pressed their fingers against the seam of their pants, hips jerking forward as they leaned against the cool concrete wall, biting their fist.

 _Ring any bells_ , you’d asked. And it _fled_.

Of course you’ll stop the Dalek, of course you will save the humans. You might not be kind but you are not necessarily bad. You are the Earth’s defender, after all.

But oh, how you love the thrill of a close call.

They think it is a miscalculation when you announce Aaron might be flung out the door with the Dalek, but you are too old and have traveled through space for too long to make such massive mistake.

The fury in its eyes as it drains away to terror has you gasping, and you throw yourself forward, pretend it is turbulence as you press your legs together, fury and lust twisting in your stomach so tightly you think you might snap.

You have been a father. You saw Ryan's face at Grace's funeral. You saw Aaron show up unannounced months later, holding a microwave he was trying to sell. No, it was not a mistake at all.

You almost let the universe take Ryan’s dad and you are so worked up by the time he is rescued that it takes all of your self control to wait until the others have left before you grab Yaz and shove her against the wall, one hand up her shirt and the other down your own pants.

She whispers sweet nothings into your hair as you groan and rut against her, your movements frantic. She tells you it is not your fault, you did what you had to do, you had no other choice, it all worked out in the end. She thinks she is comforting you. You bury your face into her neck to hide your triumphant grin as you gasp your way through your climax, stars just like the one you threw the Dalek into bursting in front of your eyes.

You wonder if she will realize the truth one day. You hope she won’t, if only for the way she looks at you like you’ve hung the stars just for her. But it doesn’t really matter that much in the end.

You have learned to fake it. Would he have thought that enough? Then again, does the opinion of a dead man matter at all?

Fully clothed, pressed against a woman thousands of years younger than you, driven to orgasm by the sounds of a Dalek’s screams.

Maybe your last self had a particular fondness for you, but you hold a special spot in your heart for the you born after the war. The coldness in his heart, dark and hardened, only cracked after enough time with Rose. You wonder if enough time with Yaz will fix you. You wonder if Yaz herself is good enough to balance you out.

He had been told he would make a good Dalek. It had shaken him to his core. But, eventually, he’d convinced himself that was false.

You don’t know anymore if he was right.

But with your forehead pressed to Yaz’s shoulder, your knees wobbling beneath you, the excitement dying down inside you, you know the fun is over. At least for now.

And you know you are not kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on hellynz.tumblr.com
> 
> Kudos and comments make my day every time!


End file.
